


A Tale of Two Eliots

by hoko_onchi



Series: Lives Well Lived [2]
Category: The Magicians (TV)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Birthday Sex, Fluff and Smut, Hand Jobs, Lace, M/M, One Quentin, Oral Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Quentin in Lingerie, Rimming, Sex Magic, Shameless Smut, Smut, Special Occasion Crown, Threesome - M/M/M, Two Eliots
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-22
Updated: 2020-07-22
Packaged: 2021-03-05 03:08:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,582
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25437442
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hoko_onchi/pseuds/hoko_onchi
Summary: “What’s—Eliot—there’s not apersonback there?”“You can come on out now,” Eliot called.Everything inside of Quentin turned to lead. “Eliot, come on. I’m not. This isn’t.” Just as Quentin reached for a pillow to cover his aching,leakingcock,someonestepped out of the dressing room and into the dim light of the bedroom. That someone wasEliot. Another Eliot. Asecond Eliot. A second Eliot wearing nothing but boxer briefs, identical in every way to the Eliot sitting behind him.“Happy birthday,” Eliot said, nuzzling against Quentin’s ear.--We only had one two-Eliot story in the fandom (and oh what a story it is!), and now we have two! Happy belated birthday, Quentin.Waves hand--this is joyously plot-free.
Relationships: Quentin Coldwater/Eliot Waugh, Quentin Coldwater/Eliot Waugh/Eliot Waugh
Series: Lives Well Lived [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1842493
Comments: 35
Kudos: 117





	A Tale of Two Eliots

A Tale of Two Eliots

Quentin was about to turn twenty-eight, though he wasn’t entirely sure if he should count the ten and a half months he spent in the underworld. In that case, he’d be… turning twenty-seven? He was just rolling with twenty-eight. It was a lot less fucking complicated to just think of himself as the right age in the right time in the right body. This was just another birthday. He could do birthdays. Let Eliot spoil him, smile and drink wine and eat whatever menu Josh had been experimenting on. He’d have to do that tonight, _again_ , though, if Eliot’s smiles and hushed whispers with Margo were any indication. He was about 98% sure that Eliot was planning a surprise party. It was fine. He could do it. He just needed… some space after the Whitespire dinner party disaster of the night before.

Currently, that space involved hiding in Castle Whitespire’s library, thumbing through an old Fillorian adventure novel. It must have been in the library for half a century or more, worn and thin as its pages were. He couldn’t quite focus on the words, tired as he was from the dinner Eliot and Margo had held the night before, which had ostensibly been a ‘pre-birthday birthday party’ for Quentin, but which seemed more an excuse for Eliot to dress Quentin up and parade him around saying, ‘This is my _boyfriend_ , Quentin,’ never mind that everyone already knew who Quentin was, and they gave zero fucks that the two lesser kings of Fillory were now together. (They were much more interested in High King Margo’s upcoming wedding to High King Fen, which Margo kept saying was ‘purely political.’) Eliot was probably going to make him wear fancy trousers with like, a thousand buttons, and a vest just so he could poke Quentin’s waist and manhandle him in front of everyone. It wasn’t that he didn’t _like_ Eliot showing him off. It was sweet—and it was _hot_ —but he’d need hide out in their room for a week to process his people hangover if he had to fucking do it again for the second night in a row.

He’d thought visiting Fillory for his birthday would be fun, but he was feeling a bit tired and tender and unpleasantly grumpy. He loved Eliot endlessly but why did he have to be so _social_? It was Quentin’s fucking birthday after all. Not Eliot’s.

He examined the Apple Watch that Eliot had given him last night; he’d said it was Quentin’s ‘first’ birthday present. It was close to seven, now, and he was pretty sure he’d be getting his next birthday present in the form of a fucking _surprise party_ in the next hour or so. His stomach rumbled. God, he was going to have to talk to people—and he just—honestly, he just wanted to be with his boyfriend. Only him.

There was a knock at the door, and Quentin looked up to see all eight miles of Eliot, reclining against the door frame, a mischievous expression on his face. That pretty motherfucker was always up to something.

“Hey there, pretty boy,” Eliot said, voice low and rich, a touch suggestive. “You’re all pouty. Wanna bet I could put a smile on your face?”

Sparks ignited along the path of Quentin’s veins; the air seemed to crackle with electricity, with possibility. Eliot hadn’t even said anything; Quentin was ridiculous for responding to—what? Just his voice, just that hint of salacious intent. He was supposed to be _annoyed_ with Eliot. Eliot had made him stay up until _four in the morning_ talking to Fillorian High Council members for _Quentin’s own birthday_. Pre-birthday, whatever. And he was, Quentin guessed, going to make him do something else where he had to talk to people and smile while he was doing it. Quentin frowned, tried his best to glare at Eliot.

But Eliot was wearing the drapey blue shirt with the white stripes that made his eyes look like coppery remnants of the evening sun or… something else poetic. And skintight blue trousers with the high-heeled boots that made him appear, like, twice as tall as he already was. He’d also donned his crown—a replica of the one he’d worn as High King. Margo had it made for him after she had axed him; he didn’t wear it save for special occasions. Quentin guessed that whatever was about to happen counted as a ‘special occasion’ in Eliot’s mind. That probably meant that Quentin wanted exactly no part of it but would be herded into it anyway. 

“Hi,” Quentin said. He knitted his brows, worked to deepen his scowl. “What are you doing?”

“Looking at you. You look so cute, curled up over there with your book. Like a house cat in a sunbeam.” 

Quentin rolled his eyes and blew a piece of hair out of his face. His cheeks were the barest bit warm. “That’s not, like, a totally sexy comparison.”

“Believe me, it is. I like my boys petulant and curled into weird positions. Really does it for me. And you still look a little surprised when I call you ‘cute.’”

“Yeah, well. You can’t exactly blame me.” He gestured to _all of Eliot_. “You look like a centerfold for—uh, Fillorian G.Q.”

Eliot smirked. “I know. It’s delightful, isn’t it?” He plucked at the blue and white pirate shirt. “This is the one you like, right?”

Quentin bit down on a smile, nodding a little. God, Eliot was so _irritating_.“You look—I mean. You know how you look. I don’t need to tell you.”

Eliot sauntered over to him, never breaking eye contact. “Oh? Well, sue me for wanting to hear it from my _boyfriend._ ”

Quentin huffed. They’d been together— _officially_ —for over a year. Eliot seemed extremely impressed with himself that they were _still together_ , despite the whole other lifetime of memories and all the mundane day-to-day shit they’d already lived. Quentin had vague memories from their time at the mosaic, actually, where Eliot had done the same thing. _This is my partner, Quentin. This is our son. This is our house that we live in together._ It was a double edged thing, Quentin figured. Eliot both couldn’t believe that something good had happened in his life, _and_ he really, really liked to brag. Quentin could forgive him that. Quentin could forgive him _anything_ , honestly. 

“You look gorgeous, sweetheart,” Quentin said. “You dress up for me? Or just because it’s Tuesday?” 

“They don’t have Tuesday in Fillory. It’s Ember’s Day or… Umber’s Day or... something. Doesn’t matter to a king.” Eliot said, kneeling down by Quentin’s chair. Eliot took Quentin’s hand and kissed over the knuckles, then flipped it and pressed his lips to Quentin’s palm. When he looked up, Eliot was all long lashes and copper-green eyes, a perfect curl spilling over his crown. Quentin’s chest caught, and he thought for a moment that he could pass out from forgetting how to breathe while he looked at Eliot. What had made him annoyed? _Oh_ , the surprise party. It might be fine if Eliot looked like _that_. God, that’s how he always got Quentin to _do things_.

“Apple Watch says it’s Tuesday.” 

Eliot put his broad hands on Quentin’s waist and bullied his way between Quentin’s legs, nuzzling at his chest, _smelling him_. “Then we’ll go with that. And yes, I dressed up for you. I have a surprise.”

“Oh yeah? Does it involve the Pickwick family clan? If it does, I’m staying in here. Margo and Fen can visit. No one else.” Quentin paused. “Josh, if he brings food.”

“No Pickwick. No Fen, no Margo. Certainly no Josh.”

Quentin perked up. “So it’s _not_ another party? Movie night? Margo has that projection spell—”

Eliot shook his head. “No. No party, no movie night. You humored me last night—”

“And this morning.”

“Also this morning.” Eliot pressed his lips to Quentin’s cheek, light and tender. “Don’t you think I know you by now? I have a surprise that I think you’ll actually enjoy.” 

“Is it something _you’ll enjoy_?”

“Something we’ll both enjoy.” Eliot traced his fingers over the seam of Quentin’s jeans, lifted his t-shirt and placed a hand against his side, his thumb moving in lazy circles over his ribs.

Quentin swallowed, his skin thrumming where Eliot touched him. “Do I have to change clothes?”

“In a sense.” Eliot rucked up Quentin’s shirt further and placed a kiss on his belly. 

“Why do I get the feeling this is a sex thing?” Despite the exhaustion and irritation that had plagued him all day, his body was starting to get the message that Eliot was inches away from his dick, and he had _that_ look on his face. Quentin thought of it as the _first year look_ , the one where Eliot regarded him with hunger and heat, like he wanted to toss Quentin over his shoulder, throw him on the nearest flat surface, and blow his straight-boy mind. (Joke was on Eliot. Quentin was _absolutely not straight_ , which had been discussed now, extensively, in couples’ therapy.)

“Wherever would you get that idea?” Eliot batted his lashes.

Eliot was already standing and pulling Quentin to his feet before he could properly respond. “No clue. I guess I got the idea when you started fondling me.” 

“I’m always fondling you.” Eliot tugged him out of the library and down the corridor toward the stairs leading to the expansive living quarters Eliot had claimed post-Monster. The rooms were supposedly for visiting dignitaries, but Margo didn’t allow dignitaries on the premises since the Fairy Queen, and Fen had a guest building commissioned on the eastern side of the castle grounds. And—both of them were pretty much willing to give Eliot whatever he wanted after, well, everything that had happened. In the strangest turn of events of Quentin’s life, that whole wing of the castle had become _theirs_ when he came back. Fillory had become the home he’d always wanted—well, it turned out that anywhere with Eliot felt like home. 

“Yeah, I guess that’s not new,” Quentin said, stumbling up the stairs after Eliot. “Whatever you have planned better include dinner. I’m fucking hungry. Still like, mildly hungover.”

“It does.” When they turned into the hallway that led to their bedroom, Eliot stopped Quentin, putting his hands on Quentin’s shoulders and ducking to kiss him. Really, it should have been illegal in Fillory for Eliot to wear _heels_ , when they made him even more unfairly tall than he already was. Eliot’s cheeks were flushed when he pulled away, a bright smile spreading over his face. “And you can—well, you can tell me to fuck off at any time. Tonight is about… whatever _you_ want out of my gift.”

“Um. _Okay_.” Quentin raised an eyebrow. Eliot appeared a little _too_ pleased with himself.

“C’mon.” He all but pushed him into the bedroom. 

“You’re, like, really excited about something.” He scrutinized Eliot’s face, standing on his tiptoes and touching his chin. “You shaved.”

Eliot grinned and leaned down to press his lips to Quentin’s again, open-mouthed, pushing him against the door and peppering kisses over his jaw, down his neck, pausing to mouth at his collarbone. He put his hand to the back of Quentin’s neck, making Quentin go boneless, a little moan escaping from his lips. 

“I shave sometimes,” he said, breathless. 

“Every other day—” Quentin gasped as Eliot cupped his cock, holding his hand there until he felt it start to grow hard. “—when we’re in Fillory.” 

“It’s your birthday.”

“Tomorrow is my birthday.”

“I’m planning to—” Eliot swept his hand around and grabbed Quentin’s ass— _fuck_ they hadn’t even made it all the way into the bedroom yet, had they? “—get you so strung out you sleep until noon and forget how to move when you finally wake up. Okay? So, today’s your birthday. Tomorrow is recovery.”

“Uh. I mean. I’m not as young as—we’re _both_ almost thirty. That doesn’t sound as pleasant as—I mean, the idea is appealing. And the flesh is _willing_ , but—”

“Why do you think I keep Josh around the castle?”

“Because he’s our friend? He cooks for us. He was sleeping with Margo. Or Fen. To be honest, I’m really confused about that whole situation.” 

“Oh—that? Yeah, that’s over. Margo is _only_ fucking my ex-wife. But don’t tell _anyone_ I told you that. She doesn’t want it getting out that she’s a monogamist.” 

“You’re both _so_ weird. She’s literally _marrying_ Fen next month.”

“It’s political,” Eliot said, pulling Quentin over to the forest green velvet daybed that Eliot had brought from Earth. Quentin complained that it was absolutely ridiculous any time he sat on it. It was also where he set up his computer when he was working on his dissertation on molecular-level mending. He liked to curled up on the velvet cushions when it was cold, in a nest of soft blankets. In the summer, it was his preferred spot for naps. (Eliot never pointed out that Quentin was a tetchy couch-hypocrite.)

“Yeah, _sure_ ,” Quentin said, flopping back on the daybed. He looked around the room, which had been—by the looks of it—reorganized and cleaned. There were two purple boxes with gold bows on the settee, and a meal of bite-size appetizers and a small plate of pastries on the low table, accompanied by a bottle of Syrah from Earth. “So this is what you were doing this afternoon?”

“Mm hmm,” Eliot said, tucking himself into Quentin’s side and pulling off his boots. He undid a few of the buttons of his shirt and removed Quentin’s watch, setting it on a low side table.

“And those are presents? My presents?” His stomach flipped. Those were—Quentin knew—something risqué. _Sex presents_. Otherwise, he would have gotten them last night at his pre-birthday birthday event. Not that Eliot had a problem doling out glass dildos in casual company—in fact, he _had_ done just that on Christmas, and he was _never_ going to hear the end of it from Julia and Kady—so Quentin had _requested_ that this type of exchange happen in private. He wasn’t above a little exhibitionism, but… he’d figured out after the fifth eggplant emoji text from Julia that he had to draw the line _somewhere_.

“Oh, _those_? Yes.” He pressed his lips to the shell of Quentin’s ear, featherlight, his breath hot and close. “Go ahead and open them, baby. That’s your… well, you’ll see. A precursor for tonight’s activities.”

Quentin reached over to the boxes, taking the smaller one off the top first. Eliot had snaked his hand beneath Quentin’s shirt again, massaging the muscles of his lower back, sending a warm, tender ache through his thighs and into his core, a pulsing eroticism that settled into Quentin’s depths whenever Eliot touched him like this—intimate, loving, driven by a need to touch, to reassure himself, perhaps, that Quentin was real. Eliot reached around with his other hand and undid the bow for Quentin, nosing at his cheek. When Quentin opened the box, his eyes went wide. 

Well—this. This was _new_. “What—what am I looking at?” 

“Your wardrobe change.”

“Eliot—this is—” Quentin’s cheeks went hot, and Eliot giggled, gleeful, nosing against his neck. “This is _lingerie_.” 

“Oh? And what have you got against pretty lingerie? Feel it.” 

Tentatively, Quentin touched the sheer underwear—they weren’t lace, exactly. Well, sort of lace, but sturdier. More like super-soft mesh with patterns that looked like stars interwoven throughout. They were _small_ , really small—in the shape of boxer briefs, sort of, but tight-looking and short. The fabric—Eliot was like a mix between silk and modal, the fibers strong but fine, the drape of it clinging to Quentin’s fingers. There were three pairs in different colors—charcoal gray, black, and navy. Tasteful but extravagant. Every bit like Eliot. 

“They’re really… nice. But I’ll feel so… silly. I won’t look right. I mean. I’m no model.” Quentin gulped, heat rising in his body. Despite the prickle of shame creeping through him, his cock twitched with interest. 

“God, baby. You’ll look so hot in those. I got them a few weeks ago, and I keep jerking off thinking about you wearing them. How basic of me to get off to the idea of my _boyfriend_ —”

Quentin snorted and wiggled back against Eliot, head swimming with the thought of Eliot getting off to the idea of Quentin wearing _these_ lacy little underthings. “Yeah, you’re so fucking basic, baby. That’s what everyone calls you.”

“Don’t get smart with me,” Eliot said, voice rough. “I’m just _letting you know_ how fucking hot you’re going to look. I’m gonna put my hands all over you. And when we’re out and you’ve got them on under your jeans, they’ll feel silky and tight, and you’ll know you’re wearing them just for me.”

“God,” Quentin said, pushing air out through his lips. He could imagine it—going to dinner with Eliot, wearing the _panties_ —that’s what they looked like, didn’t they—pressed against his cock and balls, barely able to contain them. Eliot, cupping his ass walking across the street, or slipping his hand over Quentin’s thigh at the fucking sushi bar. “Okay. I—I’ll try them.” 

“Good boy.”

“Oh my _God._ You’re too much. Jesus.” He drew Eliot’s arm tight around him, placing that broad hand against his abdomen. Eliot’s touch was steadying, protective against the crashing waves of arousal-shame-uncertainty. If he let Eliot guide him, he’d be okay. He could… let go. Do all the things he’d never even considered before.

“Open the other box.” 

Quentin narrowed his eyes, suspicious, but he took the other box and let Eliot undo the bow for him. “My baby,” he crooned. “You’re gonna be so gorgeous. I’ll get you all dressed up in your pretty things and just touch you.”

It was overwhelming, how Eliot took care of him—sometimes to excess, like he was possessive, though that wasn’t _quite_ the word. It was more like some transformed desire to protect Quentin from all the shit that had _already_ happened to him… like he wanted to show the world that Quentin belonged to him, like he wanted to show that to Quentin, too. A splotchy flush had blossomed over Quentin’s cheeks, down his neck. His cock was growing _hard_ , thrumming, just from Eliot touching him, from his gift. From his words. 

There was another mass of black lace and silk in the next box. “And what is _this_?” 

Eliot laughed, barely able to get the words out. “You sound like you’re pissed off.”

“I’m just a little—” Quentin gulped as he ran his fingers over the plush fabric. “—skeptical. I’ll look so—I don’t know.” 

“Honey, we both know you’re going to wear it.” Eliot leaned into his ear. “If I tell you to, you will. And you’re going to fucking love it.”

Quentin swallowed, pulling up the gauzy black robe and the nearly sheer drawstring pants in fine black lace. It was all so _soft_ , and Eliot knew—he _knew_ how much Quentin gravitated to anything that felt good against his skin. This all felt like—like clouds, breezy and light. “ _Fuck._. Eliot.” 

Eliot laughed again, so _amused_. Eliot slipped his hand away from Quentin’s back and placed it, firm, over his cock. “God, look at you. You’re already hard. You’ll love it. You’re just embarrassed. It’s only me. Just wanna see the outline of that nice fat cock in all that lace.” Eliot slotted their lips together, aggressive this time, gripping Quentin and kissing him until he was gasping for air and moaning into Eliot’s mouth. “You had a bath after lunch, baby?”

Quentin nodded. He was _so hard_. “Yeah, I—yeah.”

“Good. My clean baby. Gonna put my mouth all over you.” Eliot pressed his nose into Quentin’s hair, and Quentin whined. How did Eliot make him feel so _vulnerable_? “Go on. Get yourself dressed.” 

“Now?”

“Now. Yes. I wanna see you. Just the underwear tonight. Stand up.” 

“ _Fine_.” When Quentin stood, a little shaky, Eliot patted him on the ass. Quentin pulled off his shirt, graceless. Quentin was a little too embarrassed—and infuriatingly hot for the whole lingerie fantasy—to give a fuck about a sensual strip tease.

He stepped out of his jeans and tossed them, rolling his eyes as Eliot tutted and folded his clothes with a showy bit of telekinesis. After his clothes—and his _normal underwear_ —settled, folded, on their chest of drawers, Eliot ghosted his hand over the stiff, curved line of Quentin’s erection. 

“So pretty.” He wiped a drop of precome away from the tip of Quentin’s heavy, aching cock and licked it from his finger. Eliot hummed and selected the black underwear, placing them gently in Quentin’s hand. “Go on.”

Quentin slipped the underwear on, gasping as he pulled the sheer material over his cock—the little shorts were too small to cover the full length, and the blush-pink head sticking out just over the waistband. He’d never felt anything so soft—had never worn anything apart from cotton boxers and more recently, modal boxer briefs that Eliot had coaxed him into wearing. The modal, he thought, was like a gateway drug—Eliot had probably been planning this gift for a _while_ , introducing Quentin to soft bits of fabric to garner lingerie buy-in from his boyfriend. Quentin raked his fingers over the line of his erection, shrouded in lacy black mesh, and shuddered. His balls felt heavy and tight, his cock throbbing and straining against the fabric. Eliot’s eyes were on him. “God—this is—”

“You look phenomenal.” Eliot leaned forward and grabbed Quentin’s ass roughly, placing a kiss and a bite on one cheek. Quentin let out a muffled moan. “Come on baby. Sit down on my lap.” 

“Um—I need— _wine _.” Quentin shuffled backwards, and Eliot pulled him down, resting Quentin’s ass between the cradle of his long legs. Eliot lifted a bottle of red wine with his magic and poured it into a glass, floating it over to Quentin’s hand. “Thanks. You’re a show-off.”__

__Eliot laughed and bit at the meat of Quentin’s shoulder. “Yeah. I am.” He brushed Quentin’s hair aside—it was finally to his shoulders again, the way Eliot liked it—and he ran his lips over the line of Quentin’s shoulders. “You love me.”_ _

__“Jury’s out,” Quentin said. “Honestly, I’m not sure—”_ _

__“Oh, we’re not done. I have more surprises for you.”_ _

__“Do I even want to know?” Quentin squirmed back against Eliot and pulled an arm around his waist. “I’m cold.”_ _

__“I’ll be warming you up in a bit.” Eliot sucked at a spot near the junction of Quentin’s neck and shoulder, humming against his skin. “Go on. Take the—raspberry macaron. We’re going to split it.”_ _

__Quentin picked it up warily. “Is this going to make me hallucinate? I’ve accidentally eaten enough weird shit Josh made—”_ _

__“That’s a multiple orgasm macaron. Should be good for one extra… boost if we each have half.”_ _

__Quentin snorted. “Come again?”_ _

__Eliot laughed helplessly against his shoulder. “That was—really, really terrible, my love. Some of your worst work.”_ _

__“You don’t like me _because_ I’m so funny.”_ _

__“No,” Eliot said absently, slipping his fingers along the waistband of the underwear. “I only like you because you’re gorgeous, because everyone is jealous of me. And you give excellent head.”_ _

__Quentin’s stomach flipped. He didn’t often feel—had never really felt— _attractive_ , and he sure as fuck didn’t think people were looking at him when he and Eliot were out together. Why would they? He was… unnoticeable. But _Eliot_ was obscenely into Quentin’s body, complimenting him constantly, touching any patch of bare skin he could get his hands on, showing him off at any opportunity—at Brakebills alumni weekends and at Fillorian balls, dressing him up and fussing over his slender waist and his long hair. Eliot _spoiled him_ , in ways he hadn’t been able to do when they lived at the mosaic, like he was making up for all those meager years. And more than that—like he was making up for ever causing Quentin to feel _unwanted_. _ _

__Quentin turned and kissed Eliot, teeth clacking against his, wet and sloppy. Eliot’s hands played over the fabric of his underwear, grazing over his erection from time to time, but mostly paying attention to the skin at the creases of his thighs, the trembling muscles of his stomach. His balls were pulled up tight and aching, and the line of the waistband pressed on the pulsing head of his dick. He could—he could _explode _right here, untouched, just from the feel of Eliot’s lips, the warmth of his long fingers, the tight pressure of the silken fabric against his shaft.___ _

____Eliot broke off a piece of the macaron and lifted it to Quentin’s lips, his other hand going still and resting fully against Quentin’s cock. Quentin groaned, grinding against Eliot’s hand and taking the lightweight pastry—and two of Eliot’s fingers—into his mouth. As the meringue melted and he swallowed it down, he closed his eyes and sucked at Eliot’s fingers as they petted over his tongue._ _ _ _

____“God, baby. You’re so hot for it. I knew I’d made a good choice with your present.” Eliot rumbled, vibrating against his back as Quentin sucked his fingers. “Okay, baby, that’s enough—there’s one more thing. Come on. Come back to me.” Eliot took his fingers away, and Quentin groaned in frustration._ _ _ _

____“It’s my birthday—I should get to do what I want—”_ _ _ _

____“Don’t be a brat.”_ _ _ _

____Quentin huffed. “It’s second nature. When you’re being _bossy_.”_ _ _ _

____“Oh, you trying for a spanking?”_ _ _ _

____“If you’re offering,” Quentin snarked._ _ _ _

____“Not right at the moment. But I’ll take it under advisement. Right now, I want you to look at—” Eliot took Quentin’s head and turned it toward their dressing room—which was a room that Quentin did _not_ use unless Eliot forced him in there for a wardrobe change or a blow job. “—the door, right over there.”_ _ _ _

____“What’s— _Eliot_ —there’s not a _person_ back there?”_ _ _ _

____“You can come on out now,” Eliot called._ _ _ _

____Everything inside of Quentin turned to lead. “Eliot, come on. I’m not. This isn’t.” Just as Quentin reached for a pillow to cover his aching, _leaking_ cock, _someone_ stepped out of the dressing room and into the dim light of the bedroom. That someone was _Eliot_. Another Eliot. A _second Eliot_. A second Eliot wearing nothing but boxer briefs, identical in every way to the Eliot sitting behind him._ _ _ _

____“Happy birthday,” Eliot said, nuzzling against Quentin’s ear._ _ _ _

____“El,” Quentin said carefully. “What is that?”_ _ _ _

____“Oh! It’s a golem. You know. Living clay.”_ _ _ _

____“I’m familiar. Is it—”_ _ _ _

____“He’s a he. He’s me. You can—like I said—you say the word, we send him away to visit Margo and Fen—”_ _ _ _

____“Um.” Quentin knitted his brows. His head was spinning, and he couldn’t very well process golem-Eliot plus Margo and Fen. He might actually die if he tried._ _ _ _

____“—and we have amazing sex, just us. Or. I have a psychic linking spell that should share my consciousness with his for the next few hours. And we can have some fun.”_ _ _ _

____ _ _

____“Oh well, I mean,” Quentin said, blushing furiously. It wasn’t like the golem was separate from Eliot, like he was even a different… entity or whatever. But his eyes were on Quentin, sort of blank, but then, he grinned._ _ _ _

____“Hey now,” Eliot chided, speaking _to the golem,_ “Quentin hasn’t said yes yet.” _ _ _ _

____“I mean,” Quentin choked out, barely able to form words, his eyes on the other Eliot, who was _staring at him_ with open lust. “We had threesomes before, so. Just. I need a second to—like— _adjust_?” His dick was _so hard_. Maybe all the blood that was supposed to be going to his brain now lived in his dick. With the way his head was swimming, he thought that might actually be the case. _ _ _ _

____Eliot petted over his sides, down his thighs, soothing him and kissing over his neck. “He’s so pretty. Margo did a great job.”_ _ _ _

____“ _Margo_? God, I’m not even—like. So they _know_?”_ _ _ _

____Eliot laughed. “Margo knows. But she’s Margo.” He rocked against Quentin’s back, his cock obviously hard through his skinny Fillorian trousers. “What do you say, baby? I’ve got the spell prepped so he can talk and feel what I feel… and I can feel what he feels. Let me spoil you, baby. Give you everything you deserve.”_ _ _ _

____“The, um. Macaron? I think it’s… taking effect.” Quentin’s core was super-heated, his skin prickling, beads of sweat collecting on his brow, precome pooling on the soft black band right where the head of Quentin’s cock stuck out of his underwear. “So that’s a—before I can’t focus—like, blanket enthusiastic consent. Big yes.”_ _ _ _

____“Oh, honey, I’m going to make it so good for you. _We_ are.”_ _ _ _

____“El,” Quentin whispered, desperate, “why in the _fuck_ do you make everything a _production_?”_ _ _ _

____Eliot laughed, plucking the other half of the macaron from the table and popping it in his mouth. He hummed contentedly in Quentin’s ear. “I was a theater major, baby. And I’m a magician. Sort of a perfect storm.” His baritone reverberated through Quentin’s bones._ _ _ _

____He felt shaken up, floating, like champagne bubbles fizzing over the edge of a glass. He closed his eyes and let out a broken sound, more like a sob than a moan of pleasure. Quentin lolled his head back on Eliot’s shoulder, unable to form a coherent sentence about… his birthday or Eliot or the _other-Eliot_ , made of living clay, his huge cock half-hard in Eliot’s skin tight boxer briefs. _ _ _ _

____Eliot placed a tender kiss to the back of his neck, moving Quentin to the corner of the daybed. Quentin whined at the loss of contact, reaching for Eliot._ _ _ _

____“Hey, now,” Eliot said, soothing him and kissing over his shoulder. “I need to do the spell. Okay?”_ _ _ _

____Quentin nodded and scooted to the corner of the daybed where he liked to sit. He was— _fuck_ —completely out of his mind from the—whatever the fuck was in Josh’s pastries—and watching the other Eliot ogle him, which was so _weird_. Honestly, it was weird enough that Eliot was his actual boyfriend—and here was a whole separate Eliot staring at Quentin, biting his lip even as Eliot chanted and performed the psychic linking spell. When the spell took, both Eliots shuddered, and his Eliot—the one with the crown—groaned and grabbed his counterpart on the shoulder, panting. _ _ _ _

____If Quentin touched himself right now, he’d probably come, spilling warmth over his brand new underwear. The temptation was there—he wanted to touch, to stroke himself, bring that thrilling-warm rush of relief to his groin, down the length of his dick, to finish what Eliot had started with his cooing and touching and the fucking short little underwear that barely contained his cock._ _ _ _

____And then—Eliot was _kissing_ his double, spelling his own buttons open and floating the shirt over to the dresser to lie next to Quentin’s clothes. He glanced at Quentin, grinning while kissing his twin hungrily, the wet sounds of lips and teeth and tongue filling the still-functional parts of Quentin’s brain. His Eliot pulled away and traced his long fingers over the line of the golem’s neck, making both of them shiver. He caught Quentin’s eye. “You like watching, baby?”_ _ _ _

____Quentin nodded. “Have you—you done this before?” His hands twitched, and he dug them into the soft green cushions, his eyes wide. Eliot’s hand settled on the other Eliot’s hip. “I mean, with your—whatever—”_ _ _ _

____“Dopplebanger?” Eliot grinned, and Quentin scrubbed at his face, groaning._ _ _ _

____“Yeah, you’re _dopplebanger_.”_ _ _ _

____“No, darling. I saved this just for you.” He took the golem’s hand and led him to the daybed, placing him on one side of Quentin as he shimmied out of his Fillorian trousers, leaving him in blue boxer-briefs a shade lighter than his counterpart’s. Golem-Eliot was warm against Quentin’s side—he trailed his lips over Quentin’s arm and up along the side of his neck, sticking his tongue in Quentin’s ear and moaning._ _ _ _

____“I don’t know if I’m—if I’m going to _survive this_ —Jesus,” Quentin whined. “I don’t even. I can’t.” He absently brought his hand over to the golem, running his fingers through the curly hair on his chest, swiping a thumb over one of his dusky-pink nipples. The desire to touch and kiss and lick was staggering. He wanted his mouth and hands and tongue on _both of them_ —and he couldn’t, not all at once. His hands trembled. The golem Eliot laughed, transitioning to a low grunt as Quentin gripped his cock through the fabric of his boxers. It was the _same_ , intimate and familiar and _his_ , just as every feature of Eliot belonged to him. He leaned into Quentin, swinging his leg over Quentin’s lap and grinding against him, licking into his mouth with fervor, groaning and bucking forward with his hips. _ _ _ _

____On his other side, his Eliot gasped, shivering with the pleasure coursing through his counterpart’s body. He bit his lip and nosed at Quentin’s hair. “He’s a little… _eager._ Never been kissed. Everything feels new in that body. Brand fucking… new.”_ _ _ _

____Quentin laughed against those eager lips, swallowing Eliot’s moans and—well, he was actively unable to stop because his body was on fire with need, because it felt almost _painful_ to think of pushing away with one Eliot pulling his earlobe between his teeth and the other grinding on his lap like a teenager after prom. The Eliot on his lap had moved so their cocks were nested together, each sliding against the slick, thin fabric of Quentin’s underwear. He moved one hand to the side of Quentin’s neck, thumb resting against his Adam’s apple as he kissed Quentin—as elegant and firm as Eliot always was when kissing him, but more desperate, somehow needier. His Eliot’s hand rested on the golem-Eliot’s ass as he rocked into Quentin with needy, desperate little noises._ _ _ _

____“He’s going to come, sweetheart,” Eliot said, nuzzling against his ear. “I can _feel it_. I’ve touched you hundreds of times. He’s got all the memories of that, but he’s never actually done it.” _ _ _ _

____“Oh—oh _holy fuck_. You feel so goddamn good.” The Eliot on his lap pulled away from his lips to grip the back of the day bed, shifting even closer so he was almost crushing Quentin, moving his cock against Quentin’s, torturously slow now. Whimpering, he kissed Quentin again and moved so he could free his massive cock from his boxer briefs, pressing back in quickly and rutting against Quentin. “Oh—oh—my _God_.”_ _ _ _

____When Quentin looked down, he could see the flushed red head of his own dick, the silken black band sliding over it as Eliot bore down on him with the considerable heft of his cock and the steady rhythm of his hips._ _ _ _

____A low, rough sound rose close to Quentin’s ear, teeth against his earlobe. Quentin realized his Eliot had moved in close, his fingers gripping a handful of hair and tipping his head back so that the golem could suck and lick at Quentin’s neck as he rocked on his lap. “Fuck—he’s going to—”_ _ _ _

____The Eliot on his lap groaned, burying his head against Quentin’s shoulder and bucking hard _once-twice-three_ times and spilling warmth over Quentin’s belly. The voice in his ear keened, fingers tangling tight in his hair, hard enough to hurt. _ _ _ _

____The Eliot on his lap slumped against him with a groan, his thighs tight around Quentin’s waist. He kissed over the line of Quentin’s shoulder, over his neck, tipping his head and placing a deep kiss on his lips, slick and messy, as the Eliot at his side pushed his still-hard cock against Quentin’s hip. “God, that was fucking incredible. I felt _everything_.”_ _ _ _

____“Fuck, Q. God, you look amazing,” Eliot said against his lips, placing another kiss there before he was passed to the other Eliot. Quentin was dimly aware of the weight shifting off of him as his Eliot kissed and licked into his mouth, his fingers playing over his nipples and down into the streaks of come striped over his belly. Fingers traced over his cock, making it jump and dribble more precome to join the wet mess on his abdomen. He heard murmured words in Sumerian, felt a light kiss on the divot of his hip, followed by the warm rush and prickle that followed a cleaning spell._ _ _ _

____“Open,” Eliot said, brushing a finger over the seam of Quentin’s lips._ _ _ _

____Quentin opened his mouth, and Eliot put a morsel of food—a smooth, tart bit of cheese and a small piece of warm bread—on his tongue. Eliot fed him and whispered to him, giving him sips of water and wine, peppering kisses over his bare shoulder. Eliot’s _dopplebanger_ conjured a bit of oil and pressed his thumbs into pressure points along Quentin’s legs and feet, releasing the knots that came with completing his doctoral work in mending. (It didn’t help that Quentin usually sat on the daybed or in his recliner in their Brooklyn apartment, feet tucked under his body at odd angles.)_ _ _ _

____“I’m going to feed you a little more, baby. Think you can manage without coming for a little while?”_ _ _ _

____Quentin tried to respond, but he could only nod. He closed his eyes and lay back, sighing softly. His cock was still straining against the gauzy underwear, but it felt… less urgent now. A thumb brushed across the bow of his lip, and Eliot placed a dark, sweet cherry on his tongue. After Quentin swallowed it, his Eliot kissed him, sliding his tongue into Quentin’s mouth. He felt a hand cupping his cock, fingers playing with the soft fabric, deliciously smooth and silky. He choked out a moan, lost in the cavern of Eliot’s mouth as a long finger traced the outline of his cock, sending bright, glittering heat through his thighs and up the column of his spine. The hand moved away, and Quentin whimpered at the loss. He was _so close_ to coming, his cock pulsing, the muscles of his abdomen trembling when he moved. But Eliot knew that he _loved this_ , hanging on through all the attention that Eliot could give and sinking into the mix of pleasure and the needling desire that this brought to him, body and mind given over to Eliot._ _ _ _

____“You okay, sweetheart?” Eliot’s voice rumbled in his ear. “You look so fucking pretty.”_ _ _ _

____“’S good,” Quentin murmured when Eliot pulled away, though he wasn’t sure if he was talking about the attention—hands massaging his thighs, finger and thumb pinching one nipple and then the next, sending thrills down the length of his dick—or the sharp edge of need in his pulsing cock._ _ _ _

____“One more bite?”_ _ _ _

____“Yeah. The fruit tart.”_ _ _ _

____“Mmm, makes you taste so good.”_ _ _ _

____Quentin laughed, a little weak and dazed. When Eliot placed the cloudberry-peach pastry on his tongue, he let out a long sigh, relishing the burst of sweet-tangy-rich fruit on his tongue. He swallowed, and Eliot brought another sip of water to his lips, kissing away a drop that fell onto Quentin’s chin. Golem Eliot had moved on from massaging his legs and was resting his head against Quentin’s hip, absently scratching through his leg hair, occasionally slipping his fingertips just beneath the fabric of the underwear where it hit his upper thighs._ _ _ _

____“Ready to move on, baby?” Eliot kissed his temple and brushed his hair back over his shoulder._ _ _ _

____Contentment sat over Quentin like a soft, heavy blanket. His cock ached, straining against the tight press of the fabric. Every now and then, the other Eliot’s fingertips brushed nearby. It was grounding, that tender-quick pulse of need that Eliot gave him, drawing out each touch, raising the typical pleasures of the body to near-euphoria. “Yeah, I guess. I feel like I could do this forever.”_ _ _ _

____“Oh, I know you could, baby. Is there anything _you_ want from us?” _ _ _ _

____Quentin shook his head. “No—I—I want you to decide. When I come and what we do to get there. I just—I don’t wanna think. That’s the perfect gift to me, El. Just—keep me touching like this.”_ _ _ _

____“We can do that,” Eliot said, looking up at Quentin from his hip. Long lashes, green eyes. His Eliot’s mind and body and memories, just split between two bodies._ _ _ _

____“You done eating?” Eliot kissed his ear again and took a drink of his own wine._ _ _ _

____“For now. Will you feed me more later?” Quentin took Eliot’s broad hand in his and squeezed it. “I like when you did that.”_ _ _ _

____“I like watching your mouth open for me.” Eliot nuzzled against his neck._ _ _ _

____“Oh my God, you’re weird—”_ _ _ _

____“You’re the one who’s super into two of me,” the other Eliot commented, squeezing the meat of his hip._ _ _ _

____“I think this was _your idea_ , El.” _ _ _ _

____“I’m going to show you a few more of my ideas, darling. But that’s going to require a bed.”_ _ _ _

____Quentin giggled, his head swimming. “I’m—not sure I can stand? I mean, like, maybe it’s physically possible, but—”_ _ _ _

____Both Eliots stood, each one taking one of Quentin’s arms and leading him to the king size bed— _also_ imported from Earth since Eliot couldn’t help but be extra, even while living in an actual fucking castle with like, royal bedmakers. The underwear felt even _tighter_ , more of him exposed when he walked, and he couldn’t _imagine_ wearing them under his clothes without getting embarrassingly hard right away. But maybe there was a spell for that—maybe—because he _wanted_ to wear them again, he realized. He wanted Eliot to look at him, hot and hungry, knowing what was underneath his clothes, what he’d see when he peeled Quentin out of his jeans later. _ _ _ _

____One of the Eliots—his Eliot, still wearing his crown, hoisted Quentin up, aided by a bit of magic, and put him down on the bed, arranging his thighs so they were against his body, every part of him exposed through the diaphanous mesh-and-lace fabric. Eliot went to remove his crown as the other lay down next to him, nuzzling into his armpit, licking the soft skin next to it, making him moan._ _ _ _

____“W-wait,” Quentin said, stumbling over the word. “Don’t take it off. Keep it on if you can.”_ _ _ _

____Eliot raised an eyebrow. “Oh, you like to know it’s the _king_ serving you, my love?”_ _ _ _

____Quentin nodded slowly, and golem-Eliot laughed against his shoulder. “Fuck, you’re so cute,” he murmured, sucking a little mark next to his collar bone._ _ _ _

____Quentin tried to focus in on the Eliot standing by the bed. It looked like he was doing a little spell—he _was_ —to keep the crown on. Quentin smiled. “Thanks for humoring me baby.” _ _ _ _

____“Honey, the crown still feels absolutely natural. I don’t have to be an actual ruling High King to look _amazing_ in a crown.” Eliot preened, beaming at Quentin and dropped down to his knees, pulling Quentin’s ass to the edge of the bed. “Plus, you’ll need something to look at.”_ _ _ _

____“Um—”_ _ _ _

____Golem-Eliot bit at his shoulder and brushed his knuckles over one nipple then the other, pausing and rolling it between his fingers as his Eliot dove between his legs, rubbing his face over the gauzy fabric._ _ _ _

____“Oh—fuck— _Eliot_ —”_ _ _ _

____Eliot groaned against him, rubbing his cheeks and mouth over the mesh, pushing against Quentin’s straining cock, laving his tongue over his trapped balls and up the length of his cock to the exposed tip where he licked at the wetness. Next to him, Eliot’s counterpart pulled Quentin in for a kiss, giggling softly when Quenin let out a wild, strangled sound. He pressed his tongue between Quentin’s lips, hungry and hot, as fingers and tongue played over his aching cock, the filthy sounds of licking and sucking resounding through the room. The Eliot between his legs placed his hands on either side of Quentin’s cheeks and pulled them apart so that the underwear rode up against his hole. Groaning, Eliot shoved his tongue against the material, soaking it with his spit and licking against it where it covered his ass. The underwear was painfully tight, pulling against the aching, sensitive head of his dick. Quentin was only vaguely aware that he was arching his hips and shouting, firm hands pressing him back on the bed as the other Eliot licked and sucked at his nipples. Tears rolled down his cheeks, though he couldn’t define the range of emotions and sensations rising in him, a tangle of desire and need and the overwhelming sense of being consumed with love and care and insane hunger. The golem Eliot nosed at the hair on his chest, tongue darting out and tenderly tasting his skin. He focused in on one nipple, flicking his tongue over it, biting and licking at it, adding to the growing fire in Quentin._ _ _ _

____Between his legs, Eliot pulled the underwear to the side and darted his tongue inside of Quentin, pulling his cheeks further apart and pushing in, penetrating him and making obscene slurping noises. He kissed Quentin’s hole, greedy and moaning against him before slowly slipping a finger inside of him. “I’m so fucking hard for you, sweetheart,” he said, his voice low and broken-sounding. “Fuck—God, I could come just from eating you out.”_ _ _ _

____Quentin opened his mouth, but he couldn’t find his voice, his senses overwhelmed with both Eliots pressing against and into him, lips touching his, a second finger slipping inside of him and pressing against the taut bundle of nerves inside. At his side, Eliot shucked off the boxer briefs, his cock hard and heavy between his legs, shiny-wet at the tip. “You want this? You waiting for this, pretty boy? I need somewhere to put it.”_ _ _ _

____Quentin nodded wildly, opening his mouth in invitation. He _always_ wanted this, wanted the taut, smooth skin, the salty-bitter taste, the thick, musky scent, the frantic feeling of taking this beautiful dick to the back of his throat, the salty-alkaline taste of Eliot’s come filling his mouth. In this position, prone, with three fingers filling him and Eliot’s mouth on his balls and the base of his dick, Quentin couldn’t do much with a cock in his mouth. But he could swallow it, take as much as he could, give Eliot a place to chase his pleasure. The leaking head pressed against Quentin’s lips, and Quentin surged up, licking the drops of precome away from the slit. _ _ _ _

____“Holy _fuck_ , Q. Your _mouth_. Jesus, you feel—so goddamn _hot_.” Eliot pushed the head of his cock between Quentin’s lips with a muffled groan, shifting on the bed so that—Quentin realized—he could better fuck into Quentin’s mouth. “This okay, sweetheart? You just feel so good. I just wanna—” He thrust forward reflexively into the pocket of Quentin’s cheek, letting out a sob. “I’m just gonna—I need to fuck your face, okay?” He held himself above Quentin, a few inches of cock stuffed inside. Making little circles with his hips, he thrust just against Quentin’s tongue. _ _ _ _

____“Mmm hm.” Quentin opened his mouth wider in invitation, relaxing his throat so he could take more. The fingers inside of his ass worked diligently, sparks of need thrilling up his spine as he stretched open, as that little bundle of nerves was stimulated, forcing dribbles of milky liquid from the tip of his cock._ _ _ _

____“God, you always want it. I could fucking—live inside your mouth. So perfect. S—so hot.” Eliot groaned above him, drawing his cock back to Quentin’s lips and thrusting in again, a little breathless, almost to the back of Quentin’s throat. “You have no idea, no idea how good you feel.” Eliot pulled back and slowly pressed his cock to the back of Quentin’s throat, running his fingers over his neck as he held himself in place. Quentin couldn’t take it _all_ —he’d tried—but if he really relaxed, he could get most of the way there. Buzzing filled his ears, a swimming feeling in his head, all the noise of the world gone with Eliot buried deep in his throat, long, dexterous fingers working inside his ass. Dimly, he heard the brush-brush-brush of skin on skin, and he realized that the fingers had stilled inside of him. Quentin groaned around the cock in his mouth, almost frantic with how much he wanted to see it. The Eliot above him started to move his cock, letting Quentin breathe for a moment before driving back in. He settled into a rhythm, pushing almost to the back of Quentin’s throat each with each movement. There was a groaning from one of them, followed by choked off sounds of pleasure from one of them. The cock inside of his mouth moved faster, sloppier, making Quentin choke on every other thrust. He loved this feeling—being used like this, just a vehicle for Eliot’s pleasure, his own cock forgotten for now, still throbbing and needy, but stilled to a low hum while Eliot fucked his face and the other jerked himself off, grunting as he watched the show before him. _ _ _ _

____His ass was suddenly empty, and he moaned at the loss, but he could hear Eliot conjuring oil and slicking up his cock, stroking himself fast and hard, grunting as he gripped Quentin’s leg, fingers digging in hard enough to bruise. Quentin was mewling now, lost in the choking sensation, in the relentless press of the cock at the back of his throat. The rhythm changed, and above him, he could hear golem-Eliot’s breathing quicken, his low moans changing to something more akin to a growl as he fucked Quentin’s face brutally, the sound slick and dirty._ _ _ _

____“Oh— _fuck_ —Q—you wouldn’t fucking believe—how gorgeous—” The fingers on his thigh gripped harder, and he heard a low, guttural groan, as slick, molten heat spilled over his lace-covered cock and balls, come splattering against his senstive, finger-fucked hole. Quentin groaned in relief, in the pleasure of feeling dirty and open, covered in streaks of come, the evidence of belonging to Eliot—his to possess. Hips hitched above him, the cock in his throat moving fast. A low, pained moan—and a final push to the back of his throat. He could feel the pulse of it against the muscles of his throat before he tasted it, before he realized that Eliot was massaging his throat, telling him sweetly to swallow it all, that he’d been _so good_. When the words caught up to him, his eyes rolled to the back of his head, Eliot’s spent cock moving away from his face. Quentin took a gasping breath and _sobbed_._ _ _ _

____“C’mon, baby.” He felt himself being pulled up, his ass at the edge of the mattress. Eliot pulled out his cock and knelt by the bed. He felt the underwear as Eliot pulled them roughly to the side, his wet cock springing free and slapping against his belly. The other Eliot slid off the bed and settled next to the other, both of them naked, save for the one crown. Quentin looked down at twinned heads of curls. One Eliot pulled the other in for a kiss, hands dropping to their wet cocks as each helped the other get hard again._ _ _ _

____“Oh my God,” Quentin breathed. “That is fucking hot.” Quentin watched them kiss, listened to the wet, hot sounds, the little moans as they jerked each other off, their identical massive cocks growing hard again._ _ _ _

____After a final kiss, the crowned Eliot pulled away. “You’re all covered in come, honey. We’re gonna clean you up and get you to come before we fuck you.”_ _ _ _

____Quentin nodded, painfully aware of how hard he was, how the underwear had slipped again, tight against his hole. Golem Eliot looked up at him with wide eyes, lashes so dark against his pale skin. In one incandescent slide, he took Quentin’s cock to the root and thrust his fingers inside Quentin, forcing the underwear aside, hollowing his cheeks and sucking at him with fervor. The other Eliot spread Quentin’s legs painfully wide and licked at his balls where he could, one hand pulling mercilessly against the underwear, stretching the material to its limit. Quentin heard a rip, and his Eliot smiled up at him as the fabric gave. “That’s why we have three pairs,” he said before dipping back down and licking at him._ _ _ _

____He’d been on edge for so long that the twisting core of tension inside of him built quickly as Eliot swallowed his cock, taking him to the back of his throat with ease, bobbing up and down over his dick. Quentin started thrusting into the heat of his mouth, wild and frenetic, chasing his release—desperate for it now. He crushed his fingers in Eliot’s curls, nearly doubling over as his balls drew up tight, his cock swelling and finally releasing over Eliot’s tongue, a hot torrent of pleasure rushing through him._ _ _ _

____“Oh _God_ —holy _shit_.” He cried out, trembling and still bucking into Eliot’s mouth, some of it spilling over his pink lips. _ _ _ _

____Both Eliots were laughing, both of them climbing back on the bed and pulling Quentin between them. “That was so hot, baby,” one of them said, kissing him and sharing the taste of Quentin’s come on his lips. “You got me all hard again. Gonna need to do something about that.”_ _ _ _

____Quentin groaned. “Yeah?”_ _ _ _

____The other Eliot pulled him to his lips, fucking his tongue into Quentin’s mouth and moaning as he tasted the mix of come on his lips. “Yeah.” He brushed Quentin’s hair behind his ear, tender. “I want you inside me.”_ _ _ _

____Quentin pouted. “But I want—” He wanted that full feeling back, wanted to be sore tomorrow. He knew the spellwork in the pastry would only work for a little while longer, though he was fairly certain that the golem could just—go indefinitely, until the magic wore off in a day or so, anyway._ _ _ _

____“There’s two of us, sweetheart,” Eliot said, burrowing into Quentin’s hair and cupping his face softly._ _ _ _

____“Oh,” Quentin breathed. “ _Oh_.”_ _ _ _

____Golem Eliot pressed into his back, kissing along his neck and down the knob of his spine. He nestled his cock into the crack of Quentin’s ass, moving gently against the much abused underwear. It pulled against Quentin’s cock, pressing down over his balls as the golem copy of his boyfriend rocked into him, his cock hard and hot. He made soft little whining sounds at the back of his throat, slipping his hand possessively around Quentin’s waist, pulling him close to get friction._ _ _ _

____“That body is… definitely not used to sex,” Eliot said, giggling and kissing Quentin lazily, tongues moving together. “Very enthusiastic.”_ _ _ _

____“Yeah,” the other Eliot breathed against Quentin’s neck, moving the lace aside, stretching it until it ripped again, pulling hard against Quentin’s hip. He settled his cock in deeper along the channel of his ass, fucking into the mix of sweat and come and spit. “I can be… patient—but—” He shivered against Quentin, letting out a soft, strangled noise. “’S gonna feel good.”_ _ _ _

____His Eliot smiled against his mouth, kissing him gently. “Will you get me ready?”_ _ _ _

____“Yeah.” Quentin touched his nose to Eliot’s, just _adoring_. He couldn’t very well stay irritated at Eliot. He made a mental note to thank Margo. She’d probably enjoy watching Quentin blush. He kissed Eliot for a long time, breathing in time with him, as the other grabbed his hip and rocked into him, panting and rasping, nipping at Quentin’s shoulder. Quentin grabbed his cock and stroked himself hard, nudging against Eliot’s already stiff cock, letting the pleasant warmth flood through him, pooling in the cradle of his hips. “Let’s get you turned over.”_ _ _ _

____“Okay, baby,” Eliot said, smiling. “Can’t wait.”_ _ _ _

____Quentin rolled him over onto his stomach and petted over the long line of his back, kissing over his shoulder blade, down the side of his ribs to the meat of his ass. He nuzzled his face against the plush, sweet roundness, grabbing the other cheek with one hand and just feeling him, rubbing his hands over the bare, smooth skin, kissing at the soft skin just at his tailbone. Quentin got on his knees to like—basically worship Eliot’s ass. Because it was just— _honestly_ , it was like a ten out of ten, absolutely perfect. Eliot was glamorous and fucking beautiful in really every conceivable way, but this bit of Eliot belonged to Quentin. Not that Eliot was shy about showing off his body—he _wasn’t_ —but Quentin got to—_ _ _ _

____“ _Ow_.” _ _ _ _

____Quentin kissed over the place where he bit Eliot’s ass cheek. He laughed. “Sorry—I—couldn’t help myself.”_ _ _ _

____A smack landed on Quentin’s ass, and he jolted, the pain waking up his nervous system, sweet soreness spreading over his ass. He looked behind him to see golem Eliot smirking. He grabbed Quentin’s ass and squeezed it, worming his fingers under the hopelessly stretched waistband. “That’s what you get for misbehaving.”_ _ _ _

____“Hey, you have a very biteable ass,” Quentin grumbled, rubbing his palm over the red splotch on his own ass._ _ _ _

____“Be that as it may,” Eliot said, voice muffled against their silk coverlet, “that’s _not_ what I asked you to do.”_ _ _ _

____“Hey, you’re very distracting,” Quentin said, his hand still on Eliot’s ass. It was really a wonder he ever got anything done._ _ _ _

____“I know I am, sweetheart.”_ _ _ _

____Quentin snorted and kissed Eliot, soft, on his hip. “I love you.”_ _ _ _

____Eliot, at his back, slipped his arm around Quentin’s waist. “Love you too.”_ _ _ _

____“That’s just… weird. I’m not used to this split consciousness or whatever.”_ _ _ _

____“Mmm, yeah? Get used to it. We should _definitely_ make this a semi-regular thing.” _ _ _ _

____“Yeah? I’m going to need like three days to mentally recover. Still, better than a surprise party.”_ _ _ _

____Eliot laughed. “Stop complaining. I’ve been spoiling you the whole night.”_ _ _ _

____“I definitely wasn’t complaining.” Quentin pressed his lips to the meat of Eliot’s ass, kissing over his hip and to the base of his tailbone, nosing at it. Behind him, golem Eliot summoned oil and slipped two fingers between Quentin’s ass cheeks again, making circles over the puckered skin of his hole. Quentin let out a shout and pushed back, taking them inside easily this time, shuddering at the fullness, muscles in his low back and stomach twitching._ _ _ _

____“So cute, Q,” Eliot murmured. “But you’ve got a job. Get to it.”_ _ _ _

____“So demanding. I don’t know why I put up with you.”_ _ _ _

____“You’re just being—”_ _ _ _

____But Eliot moaned, long and loud, instead of telling Quentin he was being bitchy or bratty or whatever he’d decided to tease him with. Quentin had buried his tongue between Eliot’s cheeks, still bearing back on the fingers buried inside of him, putting every effort into making Eliot shut the fuck up as he licked over him, waiting for that telltale flutter of his body beginning to relax and open against his tongue. He kissed the dark, tender, secret space of him that no one else could have—licking him, wet and filthy, pressing him open with his thumbs and diving deeper, his tongue just fitting into that hollow space. He sighed, licking, blissed out—he _loved_ , had always loved, this part of sex between them, how Eliot’s whole body went lax beneath him, how his ordinarily controlled demeanor crumpled, leaving him _bare_. Quentin’s thighs burned, heat pooling in his core, lost as he was in sensation—buried in Eliot, loosening the tight, guarded muscle with his tongue and lips, while fucking back on three fingers, the fingertips just barely cresting over the taut, sensitive nerves that made his cock jump, adding flame to the slowly building fire within him. Eliot had been reduced to a trembling mass—clutching the covers and pushing back against Quentin, babbling nonsensically, signaling the complete shutdown of any higher reasoning. His words were a jumble of _oh fuck, Quentin_ and _your mouth, Jesus Christ_. _ _ _ _

____He finally pulled away, trying to focus on the spell to summon lube while he was deliciously full and open, impaled on Eliot’s fingers. He had to do the fucking spell twice to get it to actually work—but a little pool appeared in the valley of his palm. He wasn’t much on concentrating or actually _doing things_ during sex, but this was, he reminded himself, going to be worth it._ _ _ _

____“Okay—I’m gonna—” Quentin coated his fingers and pressed two against Eliot’s hole, pushing inside and feeling the eventual give and release around his fingers. His brain was actually _melting_ , but he scissored his fingers, fucking them in and out, listening to the change in Eliot’s moans, in the movements of his body and—_ _ _ _

____“Fuck—okay—I’m ready—come _on_ —”_ _ _ _

____“Jesus, a little patience, Eliot.”_ _ _ _

____Quentin was a touch overwhelmed, his head spinning-dizzy, as he lined himself up behind Eliot and helped pull him onto his knees. He hadn’t even been aware of how incredibly hard he was, his breath coming in short rasps. Everything was slick with oily lube and sweat, and they both (all three?) smelled like sex, and—he could do this. He could._ _ _ _

____Whenever he was the one who was supposed to be… in charge, kind of, he had the vague feeling that he was doing something wrong, like someone might call on him and ask him to speak in front of the class, and he’d watch his poorly written notes fall the the floor and stumble over himself on the way up to the front of the classroom. It was just that—they were sort of new to each other in certain ways, with the haze of fifty years of memories settling in at unexpected times. Really, he’d topped Eliot a _lot_ in their other life, but not so much in this year—not enough to feel confident in this body—and—_ _ _ _

____The other Eliot leaned over his shoulder. “Stop thinking. Just do it.”_ _ _ _

____Quentin gasped as Eliot reached down and wrapped his long fingers around the base of Quentin’s cock, his other hand on the other Eliot’s hip. He helped guide Quentin forward, the head of his dick flush with Eliot’s ass, pushing inward gently until the head pushed past the tight ring of muscle. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, pushing in slow and measured as the other Eliot drew his hand away and gripped Quentin’s other hip. Eliot was relaxed and easy, welcoming Quentin’s cock and fucking back onto it with delighted little gasps. His vision whited out as he slid forward, driving in all the way to the root, his body tight against Eliot’s. Taking little shocked breaths, he adjusted himself, his hands going to the dip of Eliot’s hip, his body bent over Eliot’s so he could touch every part of him, bare skin on bare skin. The underwear was nearly shredded at this point, and he felt a gentle tug, the strange sensation of fabric disappearing as the other Eliot tutted it away._ _ _ _

____“Q,” Eliot said with reverence, so much love in his voice that Quentin felt like he might topple over from bearing the weight of it. “You feel so good, baby—so good. You can—move, sweetheart.”_ _ _ _

____Quentin whined—it was so good—too fucking good, hot and tight, a vise around his cock. “You’re amazing,” Quentin choked out. “Fuck, it’s—so tight. El, you feel _incredible_.”_ _ _ _

____Eliot managed a little laugh. “Flattery will get you _everywhere_ ,” he said, his voice ragged. “Come on and fuck me, baby. I wanna feel you.”_ _ _ _

____Quentin pulled back with a shaky breath, pressing back inside with aching slowness, lost in the wet, clenching heat, Eliot’s skin and scent and body, covering him, surrounding him. He started to fall into a rhythm, pacing himself in time with Eliot’s gasping breaths, rocking his hips and hoping that it was _good_ , as good as Eliot made it for him, every time. He was _so_ hard, lost in Eliot as he thrust into him, making little high-pitched _ah ah ah_ sounds as he fucked into the plush pink space of Eliot, his own ass aching to be filled._ _ _ _

____“Ready for me, baby?” Behind him, golem-Eliot pressed his fingers between Quentin’s cheeks again, toying with his hole as he slammed into Eliot, barely even able to slow down, let alone stop. Quentin cried out, almost pained, but he slowed to a halt, hips stuttering._ _ _ _

____“Yeah—c’mon. Yeah, I need it, need to be inside you.” He felt a strong hand pushing him down against Eliot’s back, heard the rumbling growl as Eliot placed his cock against Quentin’s hole, all blunt pressure as thumbs spread him open. “You ready, love?”_ _ _ _

____“Yeah,” Quentin moaned, almost unable to hold himself still in Eliot’s perfect ass. But he held steady, bearing back until he felt the slide and pop of the head inside of him. “Oh _my God_.”_ _ _ _

____Eliot tenderly pushed inside of him, moaning gently, his hand tangling in Quentin’s hair and _pulling_ as he pressed all the way in, filling him to the hilt. Beneath him, he felt Eliot’s body tremble, and he remembered the link that created echoes of every sensation. He was pressed in tight, tight, tight against Eliot’s body, stuffed full of cock from behind, stretched open, his skin on fire and thighs burning as Eliot clenched around him._ _ _ _

____“Here,” the Eliot behind him said, his voice so _gentle_. “Just pull back a little—and you—move—okay?” _ _ _ _

____“Oh—okay—” Quentin swallowed against the dryness in his throat, doing just as Eliot had told him, pulling back and thrusting forward again. He whimpered, eyes shut tight, as he pulled back again and fucked into Eliot, hips stuttering. He moved cautiously at first, going painfully slow, trying to get used to the insane feeling of fullness, the delicious drag of Eliot’s ass as he drove into him._ _ _ _

____Behind him, Eliot shuddered, his grip on Quentin’s hips painfully tight. He made little rolling thrusts as he moved inside Quentin’s ass, punctuating each movement with a breathy moan. “Fuck, I feel you _everywhere_ ,” he said, words heavy and ragged, like they were pulled from somewhere deep inside._ _ _ _

____Quentin sobbed in response, helplessly rocking back on his cock, forward into the close-hot grip of Eliot’s ass, the clutch and drag sending crackles like lightning through his limbs, his toes curling against the covers. It was _staggering_ to be so _surrounded_ , to have every part of Eliot covering him, to be filled and split open as he hung over Eliot’s back, listening to his wet panting as they moved together, one being, joined together for this collection of moments in time. _ _ _ _

____Eliot’s movements became more insistent, and he plunged into Quentin with more force, his grunts coming faster, louder. “God, Q, I’m so _close_ —you feel so _fucking good_ —just—push all the way in—” Eliot guided Quentin forward so he was buried to the hilt, the base of his dick pushed tight against Eliot’s ass. “—yeah, just like that—” Eliot thrust into him _hard_ , crying out, a shattered sound. “—you just stay still, sweetheart—”_ _ _ _

____“Oh my _God_ , El—” Quentin’s vision actually whited out, his fingers digging into flesh as Eliot fucked him in powerful, deep strokes, nearly brutal. _ _ _ _

____“Okay, baby?” Eliot choked out._ _ _ _

____“God— _yes_ —fuck me—come— _come inside me_ —” He just—this is what he always needed, for Eliot to consume him, possess him, _remind_ him that he alive again, that they belonged to each other, that they _could work_ in this world, in this life, that they were unbreakable._ _ _ _

____“Fuck—Quentin— _baby_ ,” Eliot groaned, driving into him harder, lewd slapping sounds and animal growls filling the room, “you make me feel—so fucking good—” His thrusting started to lose rhythm, untamed, slamming into Quentin, quivering as his cock finally released, body jerking reflexively, awed moans fluttering from— _both Eliots_ , Quentin thought, overwhelmed, still buried inside Eliot, hot and tight around him. Eliot’s double made a helpless sound when he pulled out, falling back on the bed. _ _ _ _

____Quentin mouthed at Eliot’s lovely shoulder blade, hands petting over his long arms and his sides. “You feelin’ good?” The words came out in a slurred jumble._ _ _ _

____“Yeah, so good—I’d finish up riding you but—I’m recovering from a psychic orgasm? So I need to just—” Eliot shifted and faceplanted on the bed, dragging Quentin down with him._ _ _ _

____“You’re so lazy,” Quentin mumbled against the knob of Eliot’s spine._ _ _ _

____“You’re lazy,” Eliot shot back, turning and looking at Quentin with one green-hued eye._ _ _ _

____Quentin huffed and kissed his shoulder, the back of his neck, let his hands play through his dark curls, adoring._ _ _ _

____He was loose and achy and wet from being _very thoroughly_ fucked. If this was normal life—and since when was his life normal?—Eliot would get him off while he sprawled out in a complete haze. But this was… well, it was a special occasion. He was surrounded by the molten clench of Eliot’s body, his cock aching hard, buried inside. He gripped the covers on either side of Eliot to get leverage, rolling his hips experimentally and shuddering, the wet, tender grip of Eliot nearly sending him over the edge. _ _ _ _

____“C’mon baby,” Eliot said, shivering. “Feels so good—want you—”_ _ _ _

____“Yeah, I’m gonna—” Quentin brushed a curl behind his ear, looking down at his face—sharp chin, lips pink and parted, his eyelashes long and dark. He thrust inside of Eliot again, slow and cautious, moving against his aching muscles, overcome with the reality of _Eliot_ —long and graceful, all beauty and glamor and things Quentin had never thought would be part of his life—until they, irrevocably, were. “You’re so—so gorgeous.”_ _ _ _

____He could see the corner of Eliot’s smile. “Yeah?”_ _ _ _

____“Yeah, and you— _ah_ —” The feel of Eliot’s body beneath his, the taste of his skin beneath Quentin’s tongue—salt and sweat—was so much. He almost couldn’t move—it was too good, beyond anything he would have dreamed up for himself before he’d kissed Eliot for the first time in that emotion-fueled mistake that had set his life down this path. His hindbrain took over, guiding him, driving faster, harder into the silky-plush heat; he shivered, trembled with each thrust. _ _ _ _

____“Oh, fuck, Q—right _there_ —” Eliot let out an almost agonized sound. _ _ _ _

____“That good? God, feel you all around me—just—so—oh my _God_ —” Quentin gasped, thrusting hard, the force of his need taking over, his brain spinning on a loop as he fucked him, hard and fast, channeling his love and passion and his unrelenting fucking desire for Eliot into every movement. He heard Eliot cry out beneath him, his body tensing and clenching hard around Quentin’s cock. Quentin wanted to stay inside of him, fucking endlessly, nudging into the slick, hot space inside him, feeling the warm beat of his heart surrounding him. But Eliot was coming, untouched, fingers curled in the sheets, his lovely, rich voice lost in a drawn out moan. His hips stuttered, thrusts losing rhythm, frantic with need. Eliot’s body tensed a final time, and he let out a long, jagged, groan. Quentin’s orgasm hit him like a punch, nearly knocking him out with the force of pleasure expanding through his body, spreading out from the cradle of his hips to the tips of his fingers, rolling through him like thunder. He was shouting Eliot’s name, he thought, hands gripping his side and shoulder, as he emptied himself inside. He sighed, the glowing sparks of pleasure settling through him as he kissed along Eliot’s neck, nosing at his damp curls and settling over his body, wrapping Eliot up in his arms. They stayed that way, feeling their breathing rising and falling together, as Quentin traced circles over Eliot’s shoulder, lips pressed to his skin._ _ _ _

____The golem Eliot was mostly passed out next to them, which was… weird, now. “We need to break that spell before he wakes up and my consciousness needs to fuck you again.”_ _ _ _

____Quentin laughed helplessly against Eliot’s shoulder. “Okay, but I don’t wanna move.”_ _ _ _

____“You have to move.” Eliot pushed up against him and rolled him gently against the covers. Quentin groaned as he pulled out, grabbing at Eliot’s back and snuggling back into him._ _ _ _

____“Don’t go away.”_ _ _ _

____“Baby, let me do that spell reversal—I don’t have enough mental energy to fuck again. That living clay is _very willing_ to rail you again, and I—I need to fall asleep, okay?”_ _ _ _

____Quentin yawned and moved his hand down to Eliot’s hip, squeezing a bit, running his finger tip just above the line of his scar. “Yeah, okay._ _ _ _

____Eliot put his hand over Quentin’s for a moment before sitting up and moving his hands in an unfamiliar set of tuts that Quentin watched with interest. “Breaking spell,” he explained, leaning back to kiss Quentin’s forehead._ _ _ _

____The golem came to and sat up, staring at them blankly. He got out of bed and pulled on the blue boxer briefs, walking back toward the dressing room._ _ _ _

____“Go see Margo,” Eliot called. “Five doors down, take a right.” He waved his hand. “You’ll figure it out.”_ _ _ _

____Quentin blanched. “That’s—that’s a little weird.”_ _ _ _

____Eliot shrugged. “Nothing I haven’t done in person. Happy to rent him out to interested parties. Nothing like sharing your dick with the world—”_ _ _ _

____“That’s like—very sloppy seconds.”_ _ _ _

____“They can manage to throw him in the shower.”_ _ _ _

____“Jesus.”_ _ _ _

____“People have sex dolls.”_ _ _ _

____“Not, like, identical to—like, walking and talking—” Quentin sighed; Eliot was watching him with an immensely amused expression. “You know what?” Quentin raised his hands in surrender. “I can’t argue with you.”_ _ _ _

____“What? It was a request.”_ _ _ _

____“Just. Stop.”_ _ _ _

____“It won’t be _me_ with the psychic link.”_ _ _ _

____Quentin furrowed his brows and opened his mouth, closed it again. “Yeah, I’m… I don’t need to know.”_ _ _ _

____Eliot grinned and drew Quentin into the warmth of his arms. “Such a prude.”_ _ _ _

____“Jesus. I think I’ve proven that I’m absolutely _not_.” _ _ _ _

____Eliot put his head on Quentin’s shoulder. “Wanna pick a movie?”_ _ _ _

____“I’ll get the laptop.” He paused. “But I don’t wanna move.”  
Eliot sighed, sounding incredibly put out. “Fine. I’ll get it.” Eliot leaned back on the bed and pulled Quentin down with him, lazily tutting out a cleaning spell that left the sheets crisp and cool, their bodies pleasantly warm. _ _ _ _

____Quentin snuggled in close to him, heavy-lidded and yawning. “Shouldn’t move the laptop with magic.”_ _ _ _

____Eliot shrugged. “You can fix it if it drops.” He kissed Quentin’s hair, breathing him in. “But I won’t drop it.”_ _ _ _

____“Okay. What movie should we watch?”_ _ _ _

____“It’s your birthday.”_ _ _ _

____“Not yet. But, um. ‘Edward Scissorhands.’”_ _ _ _

____“Okay. Happy birthday, baby.” Eliot waved his hand and flew the laptop to the bed with a flourish, suspending it in midair where they could both see it, a few feet above their legs. Quentin pulled the covers up and pressed in close to Eliot’s side._ _ _ _

____“Love you.”_ _ _ _

____“Love you, too.” Eliot started the movie with a flip of his fingers, Quentin watching his hands in the low light, warm with the promise of many more birthdays—uncomplicated, free of apocalyptic events, and spent together, at home in each other’s arms._ _ _ _

**Author's Note:**

> Many thanks to RedBlazer for encouraging me in this madness and being an awesome beta and friend. And many thanks to Rubickk who coined 'Queleliot,' and it's definitely going to catch on. To all the Peaches and Plums, thanks for being incredible.
> 
> All due credit to the [first Queleliot threesome fic](https://archiveofourown.org/works/19295812), which I've loved since I joined the fandom. 
> 
> (And inspired by [Peachbabypie](https://peachbabypie.tumblr.com/).)
> 
> This is a day late for Q's birthday, but I feel like he's okay with it.


End file.
